Hmm.
Should I have the shrimp or the crab legs?
The roast beef or chicken?
Decisions are difficult, and none more so than deciding what to add to your plate from one of the most savory buffet lines in all of Las Vegas. In front of me, behind a clear, gleaming spit guard, are some of the most aromatic and delectable choices my stomach has ever beheld—each and every morsel calling my name.
Chicken, steak, seafood, lobster, vegetables, salads, and desserts of every variety. Soups, breads, and pastas. Sauces and spreads. Toppings and condiments.
My brow furrows in a pout as I inspect the buffet line. “Why are these plates so small?” I whine to Becky, who trails behind me and is having no issues loading up her dinner plate.
She looks down at her ceramic saucer—I notice she’s selected a gorgeous slice of prime rib—then up at me. “You’re calling this small? This isn’t a plate, Janine, it’s a platter. Not to sound like a total mom here, but your eyes are bigger than your stomach. Just pick something and move on. People are waiting.”
I crane my neck around her and into the eyes of several people giving me hard stares. One man, who looks like he’s in a motorcycle gang, twitches his mustache at me; another blows out a puff of air.
Alrighty then, shrimp it is.
Or crab legs.
Dammit!
Sighing, I lean in and grab a set of silver tongs, poking through the shrimp to select the finest pieces and then dropping them on my plate. I still have room, so I throw on a small cut of chicken, vegetables—boring, I know—and eyeball a steaming chafing dish of foot-long hot dogs.
I tip my head to the side, considering them. “Hey. Is it me, or do those hot dogs look phallic?”
Becky stops scooping rice pilaf onto her plate and raises her brows at me. “We’re at a porn convention. Of course you have penis on the brain.”
I scoff. “I just don’t think it’s a coincidence that they’re serving wieners this weekend. This place is classy; does it seem like a place that ordinarily does that? And that corn on the cob? Hello! Phallic. Those kabobs? Yeah. Cocks.”
Becky stares at me wide eyed before tipping her head back and laughing. “You’re certifiable, do you know that? Seriously. Get your head out of the gutter, you pervert.”
From the corner of my eye, a bright emerald-green evening gown swirls on the floor, and I follow the fabric up, up, up, past a trim waist and giant, surgically enhanced breasts spilling out of the neckline, to get a look at the human belonging to the banging body.
Becky reaches over me to grab the tongs, stretching for the tuna salad.
I halt her movements with a hand to the forearm and a furious hiss. “Becky. Don’t. Look. Now. I said don’t look! Why are you looking?” I whisper. I blow out a breath, exhaling slowly. “Now. Don’t be alarmed. But Ana Roldan is standing. Right. There.”
My best friend, who never has liked being told what to do, tries to peek around me.
“Oh my god! Stand still. Quit fidgeting. Wait until she comes closer and then we’ll engage.”
Becky rolls her eyes and snaps the metal tongs at me until I release her arm. “I’m not fidgeting, I’m trying to eat. Would you please move out of the way? You’re being ridiculous.” She bumps me with a hip. “Besides, I’ve had my fill of porn stars to last a lifetime, thank you very much.”
Out of my peripheral view, I watch as Ana Roldan’s slim figure moves to the plate corral, takes a platter, her long pale fingers grabbing silverware. I watch as her fire-engine-red nails tap the glass plate. She tips her chin up, her brunette hair sleekly cascading around her shoulders as she looks through the glass of the buffet, probably mentally calculating the calories of every option presented.
I stare down at my own five-pound plate, loaded down with chicken, shrimp veggies, and mashed potatoes.
Dammit!
Ana Roldan is three feet away.
Two.
One.
Casually, I feign indecision.
Alright, fine—I’m not feigning anything. I truly don’t know which cupcake to take. My point is, I stand there, stalling, while Ana eases closer, biting her red lower lip and peering into the same glass case as I.
She moves, and I catch of whiff of her.
For a porn star, she smells really good.
“Thank you.”
I close my eyes briefly and count to three before opening them; beside me, Becky lets out a choked moan. “Did I say that out loud?”
“Yes, you did. But don’t worry about it,” she breathes in her breathy porn star voice. “It’s my job to smell tasty.”
“Well, mission accomplished.” I grin as she stares at the hot dogs.
“Is it just me, or…” We stare as she reaches in past the spit guard and pokes at a fat, juicy hot dog with the tip of her blood-red fingertip.
I turn to Becky. “See? I told you!” Triumphantly, I turn back towards Ana Roldan, who is still poking the hot dog. Wait. Should she be doing that? Is it sanitary? “We were just having the dick talk. My friend Becky here thought it was pure coincidence that they’re serving up a slew of phallic foods.”
“I went down on someone with a cock shaped just like this,” the porn star announces, grabbing the hot dog out of the chafing dish and wobbling it back and forth between her manicured fingers. “It wasn’t this long though.”
Becky squeaks beside me then opens her mouth.
No sound comes out.
“So you give, um… blow jobs to every shape and size?” I ask. My friend jabs me in the spine with her pointy, evil little elbow. I swat at her from behind. “If you spontaneously had an accurate representation of a dick, would you be able to do a demonstration?”
Ana Roldan eyeballs the meaty member, studying it; she turns it this way and that before tossing it back into the serving dish.
Ew.
Becky gasps—probably more at Ana Roldan’s questionable food etiquette than at my rude question—and I swat at her again, hoping she won’t begin her favorite tirade about hygiene in public and the proper uses and benefits of hand sanitizer. No porn star wants to be lectured about keeping their wieners and body parts sanitized for the sake of their civic duty.
“I’m not sure what you’re asking me,” Ana demurs, batting her long, false lashes. I make note that her smooth complexion is the result of shit tons of foundation, cover-up, and contouring. Caked on thick, her black-as-soot eyelashes are dramatic and full, her lips painted into a blood-red pout.
“I’m sorry, but I had to ask. I mean, it’s not every day you’re standing next to the most popular adult entertainment star in the entire industry.”
Her plate suspended in the air with a slim hand, she tilts her head. “I’m still not following.”
Seriously? I have to spell it out for her? Dismissively, I wonder how many dicks have to poke you in the back of the throat to kill your brain function. Probably a lot. I bite my lip and forge on. “I’m just wondering if you’d be willing to do a demonstration. See, my friend here—” I put my plate-free hand around Becky’s shoulder. “My friend Becky here is going through some experimentation with her hubby, and any tips or suggestions would be amazing. Right, Becky?”
Becky lets out a loud moan of displeasure that has Ana’s eyebrows shooting into her hairline.
“Wow, Becky, that was really sexy!” she coos. “It takes some performers years to get a ‘gasm moan that realistic.”
I smile at my best friend like a proud parent. “So, Ana…”
Ana laughs. “I’m not deep-throating a hot dog for you, but I can offer you some tips and tricks. Let me think for a second.” She sets down her platter and taps a red nail on her pert chin while the other patrons give up on waiting and just move around us. “Have you tried role-playing? Maybe out in public, pretend you’ve never met. Or, oh! I know. Watch porn together. I can have my manager send you some of my DVDs.”
Becky groans again, this time into the sleeve of my shirt. “Thanks?”
Ana isn’t done offering suggestions. “Have you tried sexting and costumes?”
Beside me, Becky nods and croaks out a, “Yes.”
“Hmm. Have you tried making your own sex tape?”
“Um, no. I don’t think my husband would go for that.” I can tell by the look on her face, the thought horrifies her as well.
“Let him screw you in public,” the porn star says, picking her plate back up and spooning three carrots onto it. “Nothing is sexier than sex in the garage. Or on a park bench.”
Even I find that one hilarious, and I laugh, covering my mouth with my hand. “Can you imagine? Having sex in the park by your house? Oh jeez, I can’t even picture it. You and Jeremiah would be the ones to get arrested for indecency, and then I’d be stuck raising your five hellions.” She shoots me a death glare and I hold my hands up in surrender. “Not that I would mind! I love those little hellions…”
Ana interrupts us. “Sex with a stranger always turns me on,” she says with authority. “Jealousy makes every man hot.”
I shoot her an incredulous look. “Okay, maybe not that one…”
“Or let him bend you over. There’s some amazing lube on the market if you’re worried about being dry.”
“Um…”
But the porn star continues. “You know what else is good? Sex against the window. With your tits pressed up against the glass.” When she says this, I grab my plate and Becky’s, and interrupt her excited tangent. I was enjoying this exchange for a while, but I can tell Becky is about to have a coronary.
“It was so nice meeting you, Ms. Roldan, but we have to go. Thanks for the tips.”
“But what about the DVDs?”
“She’ll look them up online.” I grab a stoic, frozen Becky by the arm and drag her towards the beverage center and away from Ana Roldan. “Holy mother of… She was getting graphic, wasn’t she?”
“I need a stiff drink,” Becky grumbles, stalking across the room to our table in the corner. “Like a vodka.”
I can’t help it; I snicker. “Or a Sex on the Beach?”
“Oh, shut up for once, would you?”